The End Game Raid
by EJ3
Summary: While Dietrich is on leave, a much more ruthless commander captures the Rat Patrol.


The End Game Raid

EJ McFall

Hauptmann Hans Dietrich regarded his young driver suspiciously. Oberschutze Jakob Gollmer was always reserved, but he'd been exceptionally silent on the drive home from the air field. After a week's leave, Dietrich had been worried about coming back to headquarters only to discover that the desert rats had destroyed it. Jakob's reticence as they drew closer to base was making him wonder if his fear might be justified. "Did Hauptmann Rech have any trouble while I was in Berlin?"

"Nein." Jakob concentrated on the road.

"What is there that you're not telling me?" Dietrich used his command tone. "Oberschutze?"

"The American commandos…." Jakob still refused to make eye contact." They have been captured, Herr Hauptmann."

"Captured? That should be good news. Why are you so….?" Dietrich broke off as they came in sight of their headquarters. "Stop. Stop immediately."

Dietrich was out of the staff car the moment it halted. At first glance it appeared that four bodies were hanging from a makeshift gallows outside the gate. He caught his breath as he realized that they were only cloth dummies. Nonetheless, the scarecrows were dressed in soiled and bloody Allied uniforms and wore the tell-tale hats worn by 'his' desert rats. If there were any question, two burned out American jeeps had been dragged up to the gate and left on display. "The soldiers. Were they taken alive?"

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann."

"And where are they?"

"Hauptmann Dietrich! Welcome back!" Hauptmann Rech, the temporary commander of the base in Dietrich's absence, strode out of the gate. "I see you've found my surprise."

"Ja." Dietrich struggled to sound positive. "How did you have such success?"

"I read your notes, Dietrich. The answer was right there in them." Rech laughed, a bit too gleefully for Dietrich's taste. "You said that the American sergeant's Achilles' heel was his sentimentality so I set a trap for him that he could not escape. The others fell right in behind him."

"I see." Dietrich felt his stomach churn. Yes, he had written that Sergeant Troy was handicapped by his conscience. Dietrich had even used his weakness against him a time or two. But he shuddered to think what deception Rech had used to defeat Troy. "And what did you use to bait this trap?"

"Wogs." Rech laughed as though Arabs were not actually human beings. "I rounded up a dozen women and children and staked them out in the sun right in the American's territory. It was just a matter of time before their caterwauling brought the fools to the rescue. I kept an overwhelming force just out of sight and we moved in as soon as the commandos let down their guard. Really, it was too easy. I'm surprised you didn't try something similar long ago."

"I… Congratulations, Rech. " Dietrich forced back his repulsion. "And what of the soldiers themselves?"

"I flogged the leader to show him his place, but I left the others for you to deal with." Rech grinned. "After all the trouble they put you through, I imagine you're eager to even the score."

"Indeed." Dietrich swallowed hard. "Perhaps you'll join me for a celebratory drink?"

"Danke, but I've been recalled to Tripoli." Rech glanced proudly at the hanging effigies. "I just couldn't leave without first seeing the look on your face when you heard of your enemies' demise."

"Danke." Dietrich held out his hand. "I will never forget what you've done."

"It was my pleasure." Rech called for his driver, raised his arm in salute to Hitler, and retreated to his staff car.

Dietrich stood stiffly, arm raised in farewell, until the car drove out of sight. Then he leaned against the gate and struggled to keep from vomiting. "Where are the prisoners?"

"In the punishment cell."

"Have they been treated as prisoners of war?" Dietrich turned on Jakob. "Has Rech been observing the Geneva Convention?"

Jakob shook his head, suddenly fascinated by his feet.

"Have they been given food? Water?" Dietrich glared at the young man. "When were they captured?"

"Yesterday morning."

"A day and a half?" Dietrich slammed his hand against the gate. "Get water, medical supplies, blankets –whatever Rech didn't give them."

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann." Jakob saluted and quickly headed for their headquarters.

"And get those uniforms down!" Dietrich shouted at the fleeing man's back.

RPRPRP

Dietrich gestured for Jakob to unlock the cell door while he kept his gun trained on the prisoners. As it happened, the extra precaution wasn't necessary. The four men were huddled together against the stone wall, giving no indication that they intended to charge their captives and make another of their famous escapes.

"Captain Dietrich." Sergeant Moffitt blinked in the sudden light. "You missed all the excitement yesterday. I think it was yesterday – it's hard to tell time in the dark."

"It's just about noon on Wednesday, if that helps you." Dietrich took in the condition of his prisoners. Private Hitchcock appeared to be cradling an injured arm as he leaned quietly against Private Pettigrew. Sergeant Moffitt had clearly taken a beating while Pettigrew showed evidence of rough handling. Sergeant Troy, his back showing obvious signs of Rech's abuse, sat hunched over beside Moffitt. Troy had yet to make eye contact with their captor. The four wore only their shorts and Dietrich saw no signs of water, blankets or food. He gestured to Jakob to distribute the canteens they'd brought with them. Moffitt and Pettigrew drank eagerly but the other two didn't move.

"Here, Hitch." Tully held his canteen to his friend's mouth. "Drink."

"Troy." Next to them, Moffitt was trying to rouse their commander enough to get him to drink. "Come on, old man. Look at me. Provisions have arrived. "

"Herr Hauptmann." A young soldier appeared at the door with an armful of uniforms. "I'll be back with the shoes."

"That won't be necessary. Our guests won't need them tonight." Dietrich gestured for the man to put the clothes on the floor. He turned to the two privates, who seemed intent on emptying their canteens. "I'm afraid there was no time to launder your uniforms, but if you two will be good enough to get dressed, we'll move you to a more comfortable cell."

"Why?"

"Why what, Sergeant? " Dietrich turned to Moffitt, who was holding the canteen while Troy drank. "Do you object to having cots and food and a window? A barred window, of course, but it'll offer more light than this cell does."

"My question is: Why the better treatment? What do you expect to get in exchange for water and beds?"

"Nothing, Sergeant." Dietrich refused to turn from the anger in Moffitt's eyes. "Hauptmann Rech treated you as commandos. I simply prefer to treat you as prisoners of war."

"Danke, Captain." Moffitt nodded slowly, though his body language clearly indicated that he didn't believe the German. He turned to Tully and Hitchcock. "Just in case, lads –remember it's strictly name, rank and serial number."

"Right, Sarge." Tully helped Hitch with his slacks and draped his shirt over his injured shoulder. "Unless they want to toss a couple of lovely girls in to sweeten the deal."

Dietrich shook his head at the British sergeant's caution, though he had to admit that the previous day's events hadn't given the prisoners much cause to trust him. "Take them to their new cell, Jakob. They enjoy escaping so keep your eyes open."

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann."

Dietrich watched as the two privates were herded from the room. Private Hitchcock was more aware than he'd been earlier, but he was still leaning heavily against Private Pettigrew. Regardless of their physical condition, however, Dietrich doubted that either of the young men would risk an escape attempt without their sergeants.

"What now, Captain?" Moffitt looked up wearily. "I doubt we know much about desert battle that you don't."

"I am not interested in interrogating you." Dietrich studied the bruises on Moffitt's face. "Is that how you came to be injured? You didn't want to answer Hauptmann Rech's questions?"

Moffitt shook his head. "I didn't approve of his treatment of Troy."

"Neither do I." Dietrich glanced at the American, who was still hunched over and supported to a large extent by Sergeant Moffitt. Other than lifting his head long enough to drink, the man didn't seem to be interested in anything that was going on around him. "And –for the record – I don't approve of using innocent civilians as bait in a trap. Not even to rid the desert of you four pests."

"I told him it was a trap, but you know our Troy. He just couldn't drive off and ignore screaming children." Moffitt's criticism was belied by the gentle way he brushed Troy's hair from his eyes as the other man rested against his shoulder.

"Could you really have driven away and abandoned suffering civilians?"

"Perhaps, if we'd been in the midst of a critical mission." Moffitt glanced away. "Still, it's not a sight I'll soon forget."

"No, I don't imagine you will." Dietrich handed Moffitt his uniform. "Are you in need of medical attention?"

Moffitt shook his head as he dressed.

"And Private Hitchcock? Is his arm broken?"

Another shake of the head. "Hitch's shoulder is dislocated. It happened when Rech dragged him away from his jeep. I put it back in place, which is all your medics could have done."

"And Sergeant Troy?" Dietrich turned to the still man. "He doesn't seem himself."

"He's not."

Dietrich waited for Moffitt to elaborate, but no further explanation seemed forthcoming. Dietrich was actually relieved when his man returned to inform him that the two privates had been successfully moved to the new cell. "Very well, Jakob. You may take the British sergeant too. Then bring me a bucket of water."

"Jawohl." Jakob motioned for Moffitt to stand.

"What about Troy?" Moffitt put a protective arm around the American. "Why not take him too?"

"In due time, Sergeant." Dietrich moved to steady Troy as Jakob pulled Moffitt to his feet. "Watch that one very closely. He's more dangerous than he appears."

"Since you know that, Herr Hauptmann…" Moffitt planted his feet as the young German tried to remove him. "I trust you realize that if you harm Troy, I _will_ kill you."

"I believe that goes without saying, Sergeant." Dietrich gestured for Jakob to complete his task. He waited until the door closed behind the two to turn to Troy. "Sergeant? Can you hear me?"

Troy either ignored him or was lost in a daze. Dietrich picked up a canteen and lifted the American's chin until their eyes met. "You should drink more, Sergeant. I believe you have been without water too long."

Troy slowly wrapped his hands around the canteen and tilted it up to his mouth. It seemed to be a major effort. Dietrich caught the man before he fell back against the wall and further injured his back.

"Your water, Herr Hauptmann." Jakob carefully set a tub of water on the floor. "The British sergeant is with the other two."

"Good. Did he give you any trouble?"

"Nein. None of them did."

"Good. Keep them well guarded." Dietrich wasn't surprised to hear that the prisoners were on their best behavior. The three weren't likely to try to escape until their leader was well enough to join them. What puzzled him was Troy's strange behavior. True, his back must be very painful, but Dietrich had seen him ignore severe pain on several occasions. Perhaps seeing women and children tortured had affected him, but surely the sergeant had witnessed enough bloodshed on his current assignment to make him immune to it. Dietrich shook his head. There was more to this story than he'd been told.

"Come, Sergeant." Dietrich scooted the tub of water closer to the other man and guided the prisoner towards it. The American flinched and tried to move away. Dietrich caught his arm before he could retreat, causing Troy to sigh in resignation and lean against the tub with his head on his arm. He surprised Dietrich by mumbling something in broken German. It was difficult to understand since most of the words were badly mispronounced, but Dietrich was shocked at what he thought he was hearing. He forced himself to laugh quietly, hoping to calm the American's fears.

"Your German is quite bad, Sergeant." Dietrich slowly dipped a cup into the tub of water. "But my English is quite good so you may speak in your own language."

Troy remained silent, his head buried in his arm.

"I believe the good Sergeant Moffitt has been trying to teach you helpful German phrases, such as 'There's no point in torturing me, I don't know anything.'"

Troy mumbled in response.

"I wasn't planning to hold your head under water until you talked, Sergeant. I was simply going to try to wash some of the dried blood out of your hair." Dietrich slowly poured a cup of water over Troy's head. "You see? No torture, only German cleanliness. I suppose, as an American, you aren't so concerned with your appearance."

"Sorry." Troy's head was still down. "Know that's not your style."

"Sergeant…" Dietrich gently lifted Troy's chin. "I won't lie and say I'm sorry you were captured, but surely you realize that I would never have employed Hauptmann Rech's methods to trap you."

"I know." Troy leaned back on his heels, wiped the dripping water from his eyes. "Moffitt said we were walking into a trap, but I told him it wasn't your style. I didn't know you were out of town."

"I was on leave in Berlin."

A hint of Troy's old smile returned. "Next time you go on vacation, you really should notify us so we can avoid any more misunderstandings."

"I'll give that suggestion all the consideration it deserves." Dietrich pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it in the water. "Now, I'm going to clean up your back before it gets infected. It may hurt, but I'm not torturing you. Understand?"

Troy nodded. "Danke."

"Really, Sergeant, being forced to listen to you butcher my language could easily be considered torture." Dietrich kept his voice light in an attempt to distract the other man from the fact that he was using alcohol as a disinfectant on his back. Based on the sergeant's moans, he guessed that the distraction hadn't worked. "Alright, that should do it. All we need now is some gauze and you can get back to your men. "

"Then what?" Troy waited for Dietrich to return the alcohol to his first aid bag and find a roll of gauze. "We get shipped out to a POW camp?"

"Where I assure you you'll be much safer than you are in your current profession." Dietrich set about wrapping Troy's back. "Unless you'd rather go to a field hospital first?"

"No!" Troy drew back.

"Alright." Dietrich did his best to ignore Troy's adamant response. "You 'll join your men on the truck to the processing center tomorrow."

Troy nodded and allowed Dietrich to help him with his shirt. He struggled into his pants and plopped on his hat, then bowed his head again and seemed to be waiting for instructions.

"I believe it's time to get you to the other cell." Dietrich hesitated, still confused by Troy's strange behavior. "Unless you have other injuries?"

Troy shook his head, his attention on his socks. "Did that bastard steal my boots? I just got them broken in."

"I have them. I'll give them to you tomorrow, right before you get on the truck."

"You don't trust me." Troy's voice was barely above a whisper. "That hurts."

"My apologies." Dietrich gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"

"You never told me…" Troy moaned as Dietrich helped him to his feet. "…how your vacation was."

"I believe you and your men had a better time than I did."

"That bad, huh?" Troy leaned against the wall. "What'd you do? Stop by Berchtesgaden for tea with Hitler?"

Dietrich scoffed. "Even that would have been more enjoyable than seeing what the war has done….Never mind. Let's get you back to your men."

Troy forced himself away from the wall and walked unsteadily into the hall. Dietrich attempted to give him a hand, but the American pulled away.

"You are without a doubt the most stubborn person I know."

"Thank you."

Dietrich shook his head and followed the American down the hall, ready to catch him if necessary. Troy almost made it to the new cell before Dietrich had to intervene.

"I'm ok." Troy leaned heavily against the German. "Let me go."

Dietrich laughed softly. "You are the one holding onto me, Sergeant."

"Oh. Sorry." Troy attempted to straighten up. "How far…?"

Dietrich propped Troy against the wall and opened the door to the cell. "Private Pettigrew, your sergeant needs assistance."

Tully stepped cautiously into the hallway, half expecting a trap. Seeing Troy leaning against the wall, he hurried to the man's side. "Hold on, Sarge. I'm here."

"Thanks, Tully. Just a little…dizzy."

"No problem, Sarge." Tully guided the man into the cell. "You're probably just hungry. We've got food inside."

"Here, Troy." Moffitt met the two at the door. "We saved a cot for you."

"Thanks." Troy plopped down onto the empty bed and tried to lie down, but Moffitt stopped him.

"Eat first." Moffitt handed Troy a slice of bread. "Then you can get some rest."

Dietrich watched from the doorway as Moffitt attempted to inspect Troy for new injuries. Troy brushed him away. "I'm ok. Let me eat in peace."

"If you say so." Moffitt took a protective stance next to his leader. "Have some dried dates. They'll give you energy."

"Does he need energy, Sargent Moffitt?" Dietrich asked. "I don't believe he'll be going anywhere tonight."

"No." Moffitt nodded reluctantly. "I suppose tomorrow we are to become prisoners of war?"

"Yes." Dietrich studied Troy, who ignored Moffitt's encouragement to eat in favor of stretching out on his stomach. "Though I believe it might be best for Sergeant Troy to go to the field hospital first."

"That won't be necessary. I'll get Troy back on his feet. " Moffitt pulled a blanket over Troy's feet and waist, carefully stopping where the whip marks began. "And then I'll deal with Hauptmann Rech."

Dietrich didn't doubt that Moffitt meant what he said. He also didn't believe that he felt any obligation to warn Rech of the enemy threat. "Very well, gentlemen. I will leave you until the morning."

"Captain." Moffitt sent the man a formal salute. "Thank you for the food and water."

Dietrich nodded, returned the salute and quickly exited.

RPRPRP

"Eyes open. Guns ready." Dietrich ordered his men as they stood outside the cell. Certain that his six soldiers were prepared for any assault, he slowly opened the door. He was surprised to find the prisoners all sitting passively on their cots.

"Time to go already, is it?" Moffitt glanced up impassively. "Tempus fugit."

"Your shoes." Dietrich gestured for one of his men to deliver the collection of boots. He watched as Private Pettigrew put on his own, then helped Private Hitchcock with his. Likewise, Sergeant Moffitt slipped into his own before assisting Sergeant Troy with his. The night's rest –along with food and water –seemed to have perked up Hitchcock, but Troy still seemed as dazed –if not more so – than he had the previous night. Dietrich approached the sergeants cautiously. "Sergeant Troy, are you well?"

"He's fine." Moffitt blocked Dietrich's approach. From the corner of his eye, he could see the two privates going on guard.

"Sergeant Moffitt, it is quite clear that he is _not_ fine. He should be sent to a field hospital."

"I'm ok." Troy lifted his head briefly. "Not going to any Kraut hospital."

"Very well." Dietrich would have said more, but Troy had already dropped his head again. Instead he gestured for his men to draw forward. "Handcuff all but the one with the injured shoulder. He won't try to escape without the others."

"There's no need for those." Moffitt scowled as he was jerked to his feet and his hands cuffed behind him. "Especially not for Troy."

Dietrich considered the man in question, slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, but Sergeant Troy has played possum before and this time you four _will_ make it to the prisoner of war camp." Still, Dietrich relented enough to gently help Troy to his feet before one of his men could drag him off the cot. He put the cuffs on himself, making sure they weren't going to cause any unnecessary discomfort. "You and your men have been admirable adversaries, Sergeant Troy, but now it's time for you to finally accept that you've been defeated."

Three sets of eyes glared at him. One set avoided him altogether. Dietrich gestured for his men to march the prisoners to the truck that was waiting to take them to the POW camp. He was on edge until the doors closed behind them and the truck drove away. Whatever the prisoners did now, no one could hold him accountable for it.

"They didn't even try to get away." Oberschutze Gollmer stood beside him, watching with relief as the truck drove away. "I've never seen them act like…like…"

"Like prisoners?" Dietrich nodded. "I am surprised too, Jakob. Something is not right."

"Do you think they're planning to escape on route?"

"No. I don't think so. For some reason, I believe they've decided to accept defeat. At least temporarily. " Dietrich glanced at the burned out jeeps that were still on display by the gate. "Tell me, Jakob, were you there when they were captured?"

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann." Jakob glanced away.

"I have not been told the whole story, have I?" Dietrich walked to the burned out jeeps, Jakob on his heels. "I do not like to be left in the dark, Oberschutze."

"Herr Hauptmann…" Gollmer glanced at his shoes. "You would not have treated your rats the way he did."

"_My_ rats?" Dietrich laughed dryly. Yes, he supposed that they had become _his _rats somewhere along the way. In order to defeat them, he had studied them. He knew their names, unlike most of his men, who only referred to them by their distinctive hats. He knew that Private Hitchcock was excitable where his friends were concerned, that Private Pettigrew was calm but deadly protective of the others. He knew that Sergeant Moffitt was infinitely more dangerous than Sergeant Troy was, fully capable of killing anyone –including Dietrich –if the mission or his friends' wellbeing called for it. He knew that the rats would never leave one of their number behind and that they'd go to any lengths to rescue a fallen comrade. And he knew that Sergeant Troy was ultimately guided by his conscience, not by his military orders.

Dietrich frowned as he realized –once again – that it was his knowledge of Sergeant Troy's weakness that Rech had used to capture him. Yes, he himself had used Troy's men against him on occasion, knowing that he'd pay any price for their safety. But to set up such a heinous trap….No. Dietrich shook his head. Rech had gone beyond the pale and if Sergeant Moffitt extracted justice from him after the war, it was none of his concern. Still…

Dietrich paused as he noticed rope tied to either side of the hood of one of the jeeps. The rope was too narrow to be used to tow the jeep back to base, but it would have been strong enough to bind a man…. "What was that rope used for, Jakob? "

"Hauptmann Rech tied the leader…the one with the bush hat…"

"Troy. His name is Sergeant Troy."

"Ja. He tied him to the hood of his jeep."

"When he whipped him?"

Jakob nodded.

"And more?"

"We…the other men and I…if he had just killed him, we would have been happy, but…he had been a brave enemy and…" Jakob glanced at his commander, shame in his eyes. "You would have not allowed it to happen, but we were all cowards…"

"I see." Dietrich leaned against the jeep. "And his men were there?"

"Ja."

"That's when they were injured?"

"They fought bravely, but Rech ordered us to shoot and the man with the bush hat…"

"Troy."

Jakob nodded. "He told his men to stand down and surrender."

"I see." Dietrich stared off into the distance. "I believe, Jakob, that I finally understand."

"Herr Hauptmann?"

"It appears that Sergeant Moffitt is in temporary command since his commander has been injured and he has decided to retreat and regroup."

"Retreat? To a prison camp?"

"He doesn't have many other options. He has two wounded men and a leader who may be too traumatized to command…." Dietrich nodded as he put himself in Moffitt's place. "If he takes Sergeant Troy to a field hospital now, he will most likely be relieved of command until his superiors believe he is capable of returning to the field. If that takes more than a few weeks, his men will no doubt receive a new commander, something that they wouldn't stand for." Dietrich smiled as it all fell into place. "But retreat to a prison camp, allow Sergeant Troy to recover away from the watchful eyes of his superiors, then escape once their team has been able to regroup….Yes, it's the path that Sergeant Moffitt would have chosen. The only one that will allow him to do what he stated he would –get Troy back on his feet before seeking revenge on Rech. All he had to do was convince the two privates to surrender by appealing to their sense of loyalty to their commander…..Yes, it all makes sense at last."

Dietrich looked up from his musing to find Jakob staring at him. He shrugged it off. His rats were no longer acting irrationally so all was right again with his world.

RPRPRP

At first, Dietrich continued to be on edge, watching for Troy and his men to come flying over the dunes in their jeeps. But as the weeks went by and all that they faced were young, inexperienced replacements, he began to relax.

Oh, they continued to take hits, but their opponents were new to the game and made mistakes that the more experienced commandos seldom made. They turned too tightly, rolled their jeeps down the dunes and trapped themselves underneath. They came too close and were executed on their first raid or kept too far from the convoy and were merely noisy nuisances. They failed to coordinate their attacks and fell victim to friendly fire. They fell for the most obvious traps, didn't know where to seek their enemy, and lost their supplies in the shifting sands. Dietrich lost fewer men, got more convoys through, gained more accolades from his superiors.

After three months of unequal battles, Dietrich feared that his men were losing their edge. No longer did they squint into the sun while on missions, watching for the dreaded appearance of the Rat Patrol. Now they joked while on duty and took bets on how long the new commandos would last. Troy and his men must have held a place of awe for their replacements because they all seemed compelled to wear non-regulation hats. Dietrich's men had taken to collecting them from the battlefield as trophies.

Dietrich, himself, was joking with the men about their new opponents one morning when Oberschutze Gollmer disturbed his breakfast. "Herr Hauptmann! Herr Hauptmann, you must come!"

"What is it?" Dietrich stood and reached for his sidearm. "Calm yourself and tell me what is going on. Are we under attack?"

"No, Herr Hauptmann." Jakob gestured towards the door. "You must come see for yourself."

"Alright." Dietrich kept his gun at the ready. "Show me what has upset you."

The young man led Dietrich outside to the gate and pointed. Dietrich scanned the surrounding area quickly before turning his attention to the matter at hand. A bloody Afrikacorps uniform jacket was secured to the gate with a knife. Not a typical field knife, but an ornate Arab knife. A ceremonial knife, very old and very expensive. The type used by the locals in blood feuds. Or by passionate British sergeants who could pass for hot-blooded natives when they chose.

Dietrich found himself holding his breath as he yanked the knife from the gate. A note was attached to the blade, along with Hauptmann Rech's identification. He stared at the very proper British script, caught himself wondering if the author had been kneeling in his victim's blood as he wrote it. He blinked away the image, concentrated on the message:

"Good morning, Captain. I trust you enjoyed your vacation as much as we enjoyed ours. Be seeing you soon. Sgt. Jack Moffitt, Royal Scots Greys."

Dietrich was staring at the paper, trying to process all that it meant, when he heard the familiar roar of a jeep. Or, more precisely, of a pair of jeeps.

"Commandos!" Jakob shouted as he hit the ground.

Later, Dietrich wouldn't be able to explain why he hadn't either taken cover or raised his weapon. He simply stood there, an inviting target, and watched the two familiar jeeps barrel over the hill, fire above his head, execute precise turns and speed off in a cloud of dust. The two sergeants tossed off salutes before vanishing, while the two privates waved. It was all over in a matter of moments.

"Your rats are back, Herr Hauptmann." Jakob observed from his spot on the ground.

"It would appear so." Dietrich slipped the ceremonial knife into his boot and offered Jakob a hand. "Spread the word to the other men that they must go back on guard. Our vacation is over."

13


End file.
